Chips
by Redrose001
Summary: Greg fulfils his promise to Sherlock by taking care of Mycroft and by bringing him chips in the attempt to make things better. Set after The Final Problem


When Sherlock had requested him to look after Mycroft, Greg didn't need to think twice about it. It was clear that someone was going to need to look after Mycroft especially with all the trauma that had happened to him and even the sight of Mycroft in the cell in Sherrinford was clear enough that Mycroft wasn't fine. When Greg had walked into the room where Mycroft was being kept, Mycroft looked so unlike himself while he was trapped behind the glass that once held his sister. He just looked defeated, sitting on the bed that was in the cell with his head in his hands and with an expression that was a mixture of guilt and something else that Greg couldn't identify, it was just so unlike the Mycroft that Greg was so used to seeing. The most intimidating man that seemed to have no fear, was scared. Greg wasted no time in getting Mycroft out of the cell and outside, Mycroft had almost seemed reluctant to get out of the cell and he kept muttering about his sister being locked up. Greg had put it down to just the stress of the situation at hand and he didn't think much of it. He had tried to speak to Mycroft however he only got one word answers or complete silence. The most that Mycroft said to him, was a request to have been left alone and to be taken home. While Greg was reluctant to leave Mycroft alone especially since he was so shaken up, he had ordered an officer to take Mycroft home and deciding that he would pop in later once it was more appropriate for him to leave, while the concern for Mycroft and his friends was pressing on him, the only thing that did light up his spirits was to be called 'Greg,' by Sherlock for the first time in the many years that they had known another.

He had easily found Mycroft in his house, there was a faint smell of cigarette smoke that floated through the air. It didn't take a consulting detective to find Mycroft, he had simply found the room where the smoke was coming from. Mycroft was sitting in a room where there was a projector screen which was playing an old film that he could see that Mycroft was mouthing the words the same time that the characters were speaking. The ash tray that was on the table was fillled with cigarette buts and the room reeked of smoke. Mycroft was still in his suit despite the ungodly hour that it was now. Mycroft didn't look up from his screen when Greg had entered the room and he had placed the bags of chips he had brought over on the table.

"Thought that you could do with some chips," Greg said as he moved over to take the cigarette which was Mycroft had hanging from his fingertips and he had put it out, quickly counting the amount of butts that were in the ash tray, about two boxes worth were there. He had only seen Mycroft an hour and a half ago, and it was a sign that things were really bad due to the fact that Mycroft rarely smoked in the time that they had known another. Mycroft looked up at him once the cigarette had been removed from his fingers and he had picked up a new one and fumbled for his lighter. "Chips first and then you can smoke."

"I'm not hungry," Mycroft said, "I told you that I was fine, Detective Inspector-"

"We don't need to do formalities right now," Greg cut him off, "I know that you aren't okay, Mycroft. It's okay not to be okay right now." He sat down on the chair that was next to Mycroft. "I'm not going to force you to talk to me about what happened, but if you want to. I'm here for you," he reached into his plastic carrier bag that he had brought into the room and pulled out two styrofoam boxes of chips which were probably slightly cold from the journey. "I feel a situation like this does require chips though, Sherlock suggested it once he and John had come back from the hospital, thought that it would do some good for you."

"Chips are needed when you are suicidal, it's a perk," Mycroft quietly said, he had paused the film on a close up of an image of the face of an uncertain looking younger Mycroft. He looked over at Greg's face. "Don't worry I'm not going to do anything, Sherlock has said it in the past. I used to bring him chips when he was in the hospital in the past." Mycroft's voice was barely audible and a strong look of guilt appeared on his blank face, he bit down his lip hard like he was repressing a memory or two and pushed the chips away from his person and placed them on the table.

"I know that you aren't wanting to talk, but I think maybe talking would get something off your chest," Greg suggested as he started to pick at his own chips. "Therapy is good and it does help," he suggested, frowning slightly as he decided that it might be a good idea for him to maybe stay over for the night, sensing that Mycroft shouldn't be left alone. "I've had a few times with one, it helped me a lot. Didn't help the marriage though but what can you do?" He tried to joke in the attempt to lighten the mood slightly.

"I believe that is unnecessary," Mycroft said, he pulled out a letter from his suit pocket and passed it over to Greg. "Thought that this should be enough, do tell me if I've missed out anything? I've never had to resign from a job before."

"You are not quitting your job after one incident," Greg said. "What you are needing is some time off your work and perhaps get away for a bit. Clear your head instead of being in a dark room and smoking. You can't beat yourself up over this."

"I'm doing what you are suggesting, I'm taking time off permanently."

"...Why?" Greg asked, placing his box of chips to the side. He moved closer to Mycroft. "What are you going to do if you don't have a job?"

"Because five people died on my account. I might have not pulled the trigger but this could have been preventable. I'm not fit enough to run a country, I can't even be a good enough older brother!" Mycroft exclaimed. "I could have prevented this years ago, Sherlock should have done it." Mycroft thought for a minute. "Might move down to Sussex and maybe raise bees, maybe become an accountant."

"Done what?" Greg interjected. "You shouldn't let this defeat you," he added in as he couldn't imagine Mycroft becoming a bee keeper out of all the things in the world.

"Pulled the bloody trigger on me," Mycroft mumbled before he started up the film again, the picture of younger Mycroft was gone and it was replaced by the film that was playing before. Mycroft mouthed the words of the man who was on the screen. "I've seen this film so many times, it's a favourite. I know all the words and I know when everything is going to happen. I enjoy that," he stated simply. "It's nice to know that I'm not going to experience anything different, no new surprises."

Greg didn't say anything for a few minutes and he tried to process what Mycroft said to him, Sherlock killing Mycroft? It would be something he would have to ask about later when Mycroft wasn't as shaken up. Even though the man looked like he was fine, his hands kept shaking. "It is a nice feeling," Greg admitted. "However things aren't like that. I know that you went through a tough time and you aren't as strong as you thought, and that could be something that scares you." He lets out a sigh and reached over to take Mycroft's hand which was inching towards the cigarettes. "You did what you thought was best for your siblings, it might not have worked out perfectly as life rarely does, but you did what you did with good intentions." He stood up and switched on the lights, causing Mycroft to blink several times as his eyes adjusted.

"Why are you feeling sorry for me?" Mycroft asked, "Everything that has happened is because I locked my sister away and I let her spend five minutes with Moriarty. This could have been avoidable, completely avoidable."

"You shouldn't let this defeat you and making yourself alone isn't going to help things. You aren't alone, Mycroft." He made the other man stand up and he wrapped him in a large hug, that Mycroft didn't respond to at first, before he clung onto Greg for dear life. "You can't go and change the past, however you have to admit that some things have worked out in the end and you have helped so many people. Your brother who used to waste his life doing drugs now has his own business where he solves crimes with his best friend for a living, and he has saved so many lives. You've saved the lives of millions of people of this country and you've possibly avoided world war twenty by now." Greg let out a sigh. "You've helped me a lot as well," he admitted quietly, breathing the smell of smoke that was on Mycroft's person. He could feel the other man shaking under him.

"Christ when I met you, I thought that you were the biggest and poshest git that I had ever met, and despite all the grief I get from you with you deciding to randomly kidnap me when you feel like it and now this, and all the time that we have spent together, I'm glad that we are friends and that I know you, as you have a good heart Mycroft Holmes." He pulled back from the hug to check on Mycroft who had seemed to have calmed down. "Please don't give up on yourself." He reached over and cupped Mycroft's cheek with his hand. "It is going to work out, I know that it might not feel like it but it will work out."

Before Greg could say anything else, Mycroft cupped his face and quickly kissed him, with their noses bumping into another. He stepped back with his face turning scarlet. He looked down at his shoes and tried to tidy himself up. "I do apologize, I don't know what came over me there. I must blame the shock. I did nearly die, one does experience their life flash before their eyes, mine was rather dull." He sighed and turned away from Greg. "I should be letting you go back home now."

"I don't mind if you kiss me, we can talk more about this in the morning," Greg turned Mycroft around and took hold of his hand. "I can stay if you want me to, I don't think that you should be on your own right now, Sherlock told me to go and take care of you."

"Please," Mycroft mumbled, his eyes still focused on his shoes. "I haven't been able to sleep since the clown was in my home. I hate clowns."

Greg barked out a laugh. "I had never thought that you would be scared of clowns," he snorted. "I can sleep on the couch," Mycroft made a noise of protest. "I'll go and sleep in a bed," he corrected himself."I might go to the shops for you tomorrow and get you some food as well. Someone has to look after you." He pulled Mycroft over to the sofa and wrapped an arm around him. "Go and eat your chips first and then bed. I'll fight off any clowns for you."

"i want to tell you about what happened." Mycroft said, as he took hold of the chip box that Greg passed him, he opened up and ate one, Greg let out a sigh of relief to see the other man eat. "I cannot possibly tell a therapist, it is too messed up to tell one. You have a better chance at understanding." And with that, Mycroft had began to tell the story about what had happened the night before and about the story of his childhood, and the things that had brought them up to this moment of time, together. The morning sun was flicking through the curtains into the room when Mycroft had finished telling his story, several hours had passed with just Mycroft talking. Once he had finished speaking, Lestrade wasted no time in hugging him once more.

"Thank you for talking to me," he said. He looked at this watch and it was just past five in the morning. "Think that we should maybe head to bed now," He suggested as he stood up. "You need to sleep on a bed, you must be exhausted."

Mycroft stood up and grabbed his hand. "Bed," he agreed as he started to lead Greg upstairs. He kissed him once more before he went into the room. "Thank you for staying, Gregory. Thank you for the chips as well," He opened up the bedroom door, "the chips were needed."

"It's no problem, Mycroft." He pulled the other man into the bedroom and they both flopped onto the bed still fully dressed. Falling asleep as their heads hit the pillow, together.


End file.
